


Life On Venus

by Tammaiya



Series: Sanji's Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Life Lesson [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2010-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammaiya/pseuds/Tammaiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji has no desire to find out what sex is like in a female body, regardless of what Zoro might think. No, <em>really</em>. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Life On Venus

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a mish-mash of pop-culture references, but you should see the ones I discarded. *facepalm* Light spoilers for the Whitebeard War; warnings for genderswap porn and all the comfort zone issues that entails, in the context of an established... thing.

It’s been a week since Emporio Ivankov turned Sanji into a girl, and he has yet to turn Sanji back. In related news, Sanji’s foul mood continues unabated.

It’s actually not the first or even longest time Sanji’s spent as a girl, sadly. Back on Kamabakka, it was Iva’s favourite punishment whenever he got too “impudent”. It’s distressingly effective. Sanji misses his dick. He misses his masculinity in general.

What makes it worse this time is the fact that the rest of the Strawhat crew is around to witness his mortifying emasculation. Nami-chan, Luffy and the stupid swordsman had already been there when it happened, of course, but any hope he’d had of hiding in his room and avoiding everyone until Iva changed his goddamn okama mind had been dashed pretty early on, and his week has sucked without reprise, continuing the trend in which it started. Robin-chan and Nami-san had been wonderful, lovely and sympathetic, if depressingly amused by the irony of Sanji as a woman, but he’s now more firmly in the “friend” camp than ever before. He’d threatened to boil Chopper in a stew if the little human-reindeer didn’t stop trying to prod at him in an effort to understand what he kept calling a medical miracle, and had fractured Brook’s skull when the musician asked to see his panties. Franky had actually tried to _defend Sanji’s virtue_ in his own weird way when Sanji had been hit on by unwashed thugs during a shopping run, which, seriously, what the _fuck_? Franky won’t be trying it again if he knows what’s good for him, that’s for sure.

Usopp keeps staring and then looking away nervously when Sanji glares at him, which is mildly vindicating. Usopp’s manned up over the last two years, but he’s still healthily afraid of Sanji, _as he should be_. Luffy is just… Luffy. Sanji’s pretty sure their captain has grown up in their absence and is being a lot less cluelessly obnoxious about the whole thing than he would’ve been before, but it’s hard to remind himself of that when Luffy keeps asking him stupid questions even after Sanji told him to go get Iva to turn _him_ into a woman, if he’s that curious.

The worst by far, however, is definitely the idiot marimo.

“ _No_ ,” Sanji says firmly, for the umpteenth time. “Now stop asking and get out of my way.”

“Why not?” the stupid bastard demands, still blocking the doorway with one of those ridiculously brawny arms. “Who the hell knows how long it’s gonna be before that weirdo turns you back into a guy? Waiting’s a waste of time. Besides, no way you’re not curious.”

Sanji snorts and tries to shove past, annoyed. As a matter of fact, he _doesn’t_ want to know what it’s like having sex as a girl. He’s only ever thought about it in the context of _not wanting to_ , because he is a _man_. And even if he did, he _definitely_ doesn’t want to do it with the marimo.

“If you kept it in your pants for two years–” which Sanji doesn’t actually know for sure, not that he _cares_ , but it’s a safe assumption to make given the idiot was stuck on an island with Perona-chan and ol’ Hawk Eyes for the whole time doing sword drills – “a week is hardly going to kill you, marimo. I, on the other hand, might, especially if you don’t get the fuck out of my way.”

“But you’re hot as a chick,” Zoro says impatiently, like he’s pointing out the obvious flaw in Sanji’s argument rather than making a totally unrelated assertion.

“Fuck off, I’m _always_ hot,” Sanji snaps. “Unlike a mouldy green marimo.”

Zoro shrugs but surprisingly doesn’t argue the point, maybe because he’s still hoping ( _futilely_ , Sanji insists to himself) to get laid. “Don’t wanna wait,” is all he says, stubbornly holding his ground. “I’m done waiting.”

“Too bad, I’m not,” Sanji says snidely, and tries to duck under the annoying arsehole’s arm to get through the door, but apparently Zoro really is serious this time, because a split-second later there are huge hands on his hips yanking him back against that stupidly broad chest and Sanji is caught.

He knows there are ways he could compensate for his female body’s lack of pure physical strength if he put the time and effort in, but after all the long years of training as a man (and if there’s one thing to be thankful for, he thinks, it’s that his shitty old man can’t see him like this, because then he really _would_ die of the humiliation) a change of gender means his body no longer responds the way he instinctually expects it to. He is deeply aware of the soft curves replacing the coiled power of lean muscle; this body isn’t precisely weak, but it won’t do what he wants it to, and he’s no match against Zoro like this, which leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

At the same time, though, something about the way Zoro’s hands almost circle the entire way around his now tiny waist, the way Zoro can haul him up off the ground like he weighs nothing at all sets his pulse racing, even as he’s disgusted with himself. Deep down, Zoro’s brute force has always turned him on, even if he’d die before admitting that out loud. That’s not the point, though. It’s the principle of the thing, and besides, the last fucking thing Sanji needs right now is a reminder of how much stronger than him Zoro currently is, no matter how hot his body may think it is.

“Get off,” he says irritably, batting futilely at Zoro’s hands. “I said d-dooooon’t… _stop that_!”

Zoro raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t stop that?” he says, deliberately obtuse. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Don’t make me kill you, fucktard,” Sanji warns, but it kind of loses its menace somehow when it trails off into a moan because the bastard won’t stop molesting Sanji’s ear with his goddamn mouth.

Deep down, a part of him – a part that he’d _spew blood_ before owning up to – knows that if he were seriously struggling to get away, Zoro would let him, even if he could still physically overpower Sanji in this weaker form. Sanji isn’t really committed to escaping, much as he hates to acknowledge that awkward truth.

That doesn’t mean he’s ready to give up resisting just yet, so he still tries to squirm away. Zoro already knows all his sensitive spots, though, and by and large, they haven’t changed. There’s no fighting that, and Sanji can’t help it when he loses some of the strength in his legs and slumps back against Zoro’s chest, trapped in the circle of Zoro’s arms in a way that he never recalls experiencing as a man.

At the same time as it makes his heart race with excitement – and what the hell, that is just _embarrassing_ – there’s also a really strange sense of comfort that somewhat perversely irritates Sanji even more. He’s absolutely certain he’s meant to be on the other side of this equation, the chivalrous knight protecting a pretty lady in need of saving. He almost stomps Zoro’s instep just on general principle for invoking such a weird, creepy feeling, but he’s too muddled to follow through on the impulse, because this is so not what he’d expected.

He’d always assumed Zoro was far too much of an uncultured lout to be permitted to touch a lady. Sanji might have a certain appreciation for being manhandled when he’s his usual self, but women are precious and delicate and shouldn’t be shoved around. Apparently he’d made a miscalculation, though, because Zoro is anything but unskilled. His teeth scrape against the juncture of Sanji’s much more fragile neck hard enough to mark but not bruise, and his hands are almost gentle where they cup Sanji’s breast, thumb brushing against the nipple through his shirt. Sanji’s breath is already coming fast, his thighs trembling, and maybe he should have expected a master swordsman to have some idea of how to modify the amount of force he uses as appropriate to the task at hand, but somehow it seems unfair for Zoro to be able to play him so well in this body, too.

Zoro chooses that moment to spin him around, and before Sanji can get the scathing retort out of his mouth, his words are being swallowed whole, Zoro’s hands framing his cheeks and holding him in place. Sanji bites the shithead’s tongue in retaliation, but Zoro only seems to take that as a challenge, increasing the intensity of his onslaught until it’s all Sanji can do just to keep up and not be completely dragged into Zoro’s pace.

He hadn’t realised until now how much smaller his mouth has become.

When Zoro finally breaks the kiss what seems like an eternity later, Sanji’s chest is heaving with exertion, but the idiot doesn’t even pause for a break. “Up,” he demands, and hoists Sanji onto the edge of the counter without even waiting for a response. Sanji curses himself when he realises he’d automatically parted his legs to let Zoro settle between them, because now he’s trapped himself in an inherently vulnerable position. He can’t even kick properly.

Meanwhile, Zoro’s huge hands are running up and down Sanji’s thighs in a way that suggests he might be envisioning Sanji in a mini-skirt with no small amount of enthusiasm.

“Don’t you even fucking _think_ it,” Sanji growls, tightening his grip in that moss-ball excuse for hair as a warning. With his legs spread and Zoro planted implacably between them, his options are sadly limited. He’s unfortunately lost the chance to knee the bastard in the groin.

The smirk spreads across Zoro’s face. “You’d look even hotter in a dress,” he says, because he’s a suicidal moron.

Sanji bares his teeth in a snarl and twists viciously, yanking on the fucker’s hair in a way that’s got to hurt. Unfortunately, Zoro’s always had a slight edge of what Sanji can only describe as masochism, and that just spurs him onwards, yanking Sanji in towards his body and diving into another kiss, even more out of control than the last one. Sanji loses track of what he’s trying to achieve and it devolves into a fast, messy battle for dominance, hard and sloppy with more than just a hint of teeth. Sanji’s nails scrape down Zoro’s scalp, and Zoro’s fingers dig sharply into Sanji’s sides, although never quite hard enough to actually hurt him. Zoro is rocking up against him and Sanji’s hips are rolling back down in response, helpless to resist the building rhythm.

It’s about that point at which Sanji realises he can feel Zoro’s hardness trapped against his stomach. That’s nothing new. What is new is that instead of an answering hardness of his own, there’s a squirmy ball of warmth in the pit of his stomach and a slippery wetness between his legs that feels kind of weird and more than a little disconcerting. It’s at about the point that Sanji is reminded that he’s female right now (not that he’d ever forgotten, but he’d been distracted from the fact) and remembers with sinking dread that he’s probably a virgin in this body.

It’s not that this has any particular _significance_ or anything – he’d survived two years on Kamabakka with his manly spirit intact after all they threw at him, he’s hardly going to develop a “maidenly heart” now – but he’s just a little wary about the prospect of Zoro lumbering ahead in his usual bullish manner and the whole thing ending in blood and trauma. Even if Zoro’s not as ham-fisted and rough as Sanji might have expected, he probably doesn’t know the first thing about the special considerations needed in deflowering a lady, particularly given he’s not exactly _lacking_ in the dick department. In fact, the idiot probably hadn’t even thought about the possibility before starting on this stupid experimentation, and Sanji’s certainly not going to mention it to him. Which means he’s got to find some other way to put a stop to this before Zoro causes any permanent damage.

This train of thought is abruptly derailed, however, when Zoro drops to his knees, palms spread open on Sanji’s thighs, because Sanji’s brain almost completely shorts out. Embarrassing as it is, it’s kind of become a pavlovian response to Zoro kneeling between his legs like that. “What are you doing?” he demands, an edge of hysteria tinging his voice. Surely Zoro can’t be serious, can he?

“What does it look like?” Zoro says matter-of-factly, hands working deftly at Sanji’s belt. “The hell are you complaining about, anyway?”

Apparently, he _is_ serious.

“Do you even know what you’re doiiii _nnngh_!”

The marimo sure doesn’t waste time, Sanji thinks faintly, twisting his fingers in Zoro’s hair. It’s grown out a little in the last two years – only an inch or two, nothing compared to Nami-san, but it makes a surprising amount of difference in this kind of situation.

“This would be easier if you were wearing a dress, too,” Zoro mutters, almost to himself, and Sanji scowls, drumming his heel sharply into a shoulder blade. Zoro barely even pauses to scowl, which is a blow to Sanji’s pride. Sure, Zoro’s a monster and Sanji’s not at full strength, not to mention his movement is severely curtailed by the trousers trapped halfway down his open thighs, but…

Okay, maybe he can see _some_ purely strategic advantages to wearing women’s clothing. The answer is still a big resounding _no_. All the strategic advantages in the world couldn’t persuade Sanji to willingly part with his male pride.

“Say one more word and you’ll regret it, fuckwit,” he manages to get out, gritting his teeth. Zoro doesn’t reply out loud, his mouth being rather preoccupied at the moment, but he gives this twist and flick of his tongue that makes his answer pretty clear. Sanji gasps, hips jerking up of their own accord, and wonders where the hell Zoro learned to do this. The mechanics are nothing _like_ the same.

Then again, Sanji grudgingly allows, there are some advantages to sleeping with a three-blade swordsman. It must have taken a lot of effort for the idiot to get to the point where he can speak normally with the pommel of a sword in his mouth, and it shows.

Sanji has just about decided he’s maybe a little okay with this whole gender-swapped sex thing after all when Zoro’s tongue goes somewhere new and… all right, fine, not unexpected in the grand scheme of things, but _Sanji was not expecting it_ , okay?!

“Hold it!” he hisses, legs reflexively squeezing shut to clamp around Zoro’s head in a vice. It’s not exactly unusual for the marimo to put things in him, but this is completely different. It _feels_ different. This is why Sanji didn’t want to have sex this way in the first place; it’s weird and strange and different and he’s kind of freaking out a bit.

He knows he has strong thighs, even as a woman, but Zoro just gives him this annoyed look of someone suffering a minor irritation, not like someone whose brains are being compressed (not that he has any to begin with). It should come as no surprise to anyone that the dumbass marimo has a hard head.

“ _What_ ,” he demands, only slightly muffled despite not actually removing his tongue. The vibrations from his voice jolt Sanji’s nerve endings something fierce, sending a jolt of sensation through his body that is almost too overwhelming to be described as pleasure. His thighs tremble and shudder with it, falling apart without conscious thought, and if he’d been standing he knows his legs would’ve buckled.

He has a sudden premonition that any orgasms Zoro may achieve out of this will be more than mutual. He also can’t remember what exactly he was protesting about.

“Uhhh,” he says dumbly, and that’s when Zoro slides a finger inside him. It stings, a little, and Sanji hisses in sharp reflex. Zoro’s got thick fingers. Sanji’s body is usually well-adjusted enough that it isn’t a problem, but… well.

Zoro looks up at him, eyes narrowing, and Sanji’s going to tell him firmly this time to stop, nothing else is going up there and that’s final, but then Zoro’s using his mouth again, easing another finger in and scissoring them open more gently than Sanji would have thought him capable of. Sanji swears, hips jerking up as he throws his head back so hard it bangs into the wall behind him, and stopping is suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.

Zoro keeps that up for a little while, clearly making sure to be thorough. Come to think of it, Sanji’s surprised Zoro didn’t figure that he could just stick it in right in since Sanji’s got female parts at the moment, but he’s also pretty relieved. It definitely would’ve hurt, and while Sanji’s not a wuss, there’s a time and a place. Besides, that’s not the kind of area he wants to be bleeding from, for _any reason_.

After about ten minutes of this, Sanji is shivering all over and biting down hard on his much fuller lower lip in a futile attempt to keep hold of his focus. His trousers had slid all the way off to pool on the floor at some point, and his legs are thrown over Zoro’s shoulders, linked at the ankle and bare but for his socks. He’s lost control over the thrust of his hips, and he hates to admit it, but despite Sanji’s initial reluctance, Zoro may actually have had the most genius idea in all human history by starting this. (Not that he’s going to tell Zoro that. There’s no sense in letting the idiot bask; it’s definitely a one-off.)

That’s only assuming Zoro remembered to bring a condom, though, because Sanji is ready to be fucked, like, _yesterday_ , and heads will roll if he gets pregnant.

He somehow manages to convey this through a series of incoherent attempts at language and some flailing gestures, and miraculously, Zoro produces one from that stupid ratty haramaki. Sanji is relieved that Zoro’s not as much of a dumbass as Sanji often derides him as being, but there’s a slightly illogical feeling of irritation mixed in for the fact that Zoro presumed he’d _need_ one when Sanji was very clearly telling him to fuck off. Never mind the fact that he actually _does_ need one, it’s the principle of the thing.

Sanji’s more than happy to think about that later, though, because right now, he’s a little preoccupied. Zoro is shucking that robe he’s taken to wearing – the one that Sanji secretly, horrifyingly finds kind of hot – and rolling on the condom. Sanji’s always been on the wiry side and a lot thinner than Zoro, but in this new delicately curvy body, he can really feel the difference. Power almost emanates from that broad, heavily scarred chest in waves.

He doesn’t have much time to consider that, though, because Zoro is lifting him up off the counter slightly, adjusting the angle of Sanji’s hips for easier entry. As Zoro pushes into him, Sanji draws a sharp intake of breath, fingers scrabbling wildly at the counter-top. Even as well-prepared as he is by this point, it still comes as a shock. It fades to mild discomfort after a moment, though, and even that is forgotten when Zoro starts rocking forward, tentative at first but gaining strength as Sanji adjusts. Zoro lets go of Sanji’s hips once they’ve built momentum, running those big hands over his breasts and down the curve of his spine instead, and gravity drives Sanji down harder, forcing Zoro deeper. Slow and methodical as Zoro was taking it earlier, they’ve now reached their usual frenetic pace, mouths sliding together in a frantic, bruising fight for dominance, fingers tearing and clenching at each other’s hair. Sanji spine curves like a bow, his body curling into Zoro, and Zoro is supporting his weight more than the counter by this point. Zoro’s face is sticky and messy from going down on Sanji earlier; Sanji can taste it on him.

This is, without a doubt, the best idea Zoro has ever had. Not that that's very hard, of course; this is, after all, the man whose ideas usually involving severing a limb or two.

(It would have been an even better idea if they were somewhere without so many hard surfaces and sharp edges, but you can’t expect that level of attention to detail from a marimo.)

All in all, it really doesn’t take very long for Zoro to spill over, but after that lead-up, Sanji’s inclined to be generous. He more than got his fair share of attention out of it, and it’s pretty hard to blame any guy for not lasting a marathon after that much foreplay. Hell, it’s pretty impressive Zoro stuck it out as long as he did, not that Sanji’s going to tell him that.

Still panting hard, Sanji leans back on his elbows to try and catch his breath, shivering a little as the sweat cools on his overheated skin. When he shifts he gives a faint grunt, not quite a groan, tender all over and feeling it now that the endorphins are fading. It throbs between his legs, and he winces slightly as Zoro pulls out and cleans them up a little. He’s also sore along the backs of his thighs, shoulders and head from letting Zoro fuck him on a kitchen counter. Come to think of it, he just lost his female virginity on said counter. If he were actually a girl, he’d probably be a little upset about that. Good thing he isn’t, he thinks, and slides down to the floor to lean against the cupboards in a boneless heap. When Zoro is done tidying, or whatever, he drops down to sit beside him.

Sanji lets out a deep breath, stretching his twinging muscles and letting his head roll forward, entire body listing to the side to slump most of his weight against Zoro. It’s not exactly intentional; he just doesn’t have the energy to hold himself up. His muscles ache, in a bone-tired kind of way, and yet there’s still a hum of satisfaction tingling through his nerves.

Sanji doesn’t know for sure what a female orgasm feels like, but he’s pretty sure he just had one. He’s also pretty sure they’re not exactly something you luck into, as a general rule, and he eyes Zoro speculatively. He’d been fairly certain the idiot hadn’t had that much experience with women before, but that only leaves…

“Were you sleeping with Perona-chan?” he asks suspiciously, just because it feels like one of those things he should know about. The thought sort of destroys his concept of reality, but so did the idea of Zoro being a skilful lover of women, which goes to show, you never know.

Zoro chokes on air and starts coughing so hard he might actually hack up a lung. It’s kind of satisfying.

“Are you _insane_?” he wheezes incredulously, when he can get the words out. “Why the hell would I…? _Fuck_ no. Not even two years is enough to make me _that_ hard up.”

Sanji figures that probably rules out Mihawk, too, and decides not to ask. For one thing, he’d prefer not to think about Mihawk having sex with anyone, ever, and for another, the marimo idiot would probably have an aneurysm. Which would be pretty funny, actually, but Sanji doesn’t really want to tempt Zoro into strangling him when he doubts he’d have a shot at fighting back.

Zoro is still giving him this _look_ , though.

“What?” he says irritably.

“Nothing,” Zoro mutters, then, “What about you, did you…?”

“I was on an island full of drag queens, in case you’ve forgotten!” Sanji snaps. “ _Hell_ no.”

The tension drains subtly out of the moron’s shoulders in a way Sanji wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been touching. He pretends not to notice anyway.

“You know,” Zoro says thoughtfully after another long silence, “maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if that Ivankov guy didn’t turn you back straight away.”

Sanji has absolutely no qualms at all about elbowing him in the ribs. _Hard_. (He would’ve gone for the balls, if he’d had the energy to bother.)

As luck would have it, Iva finally decides to restore Sanji’s manhood the next day.

Sanji is completely relieved and has no regrets in _any way_ , and anyone who says differently is asking for a kick to the head.

Really.


End file.
